Men Of Beacon Hills
by awelsh
Summary: Stiles Stilinski never meant to be alone in the showers doing a little more than getting clean, but there he was. Jackson's arrival was even more unexpected, and what happened next might quite possibly have blown his mind.
1. Part I

**Authors Note:**

**Disclaimer: I do not own teen wolf blah blah.**

**This story was planned to be a series of one-shots, but it's kind of evolved now. A story gets going in later chapters, so don't just think it's all smut. Though there is lots of beautiful smut for you to enjoy.**

**Warning: lots of hot, sexy, delicious men banging each other in very graphic scenarios.**

**Enjoy it – lets be honest, who doesn't?**

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**Part I**

"Someone save me, I'm too tired." Stiles grumbled, a slight grin playing on his dry lips as he followed Scott into the boys locker room. It had been a particularly gruelling lacrosse practice, made all the worse for Coach actually picking Stiles to play, something he was doing _all the freaking time _lately, forcing him up and down the field with what he thought were encouraging shouts, but in actuality just making Stiles feel worse for not being able to keep up with Scott and Jackson.

"Hurry up." Scott gave his best friend a slight shove as he stripped off and padded towards the showers, looking back through the crowd of sweaty, laughing boys to see Stiles throwing his limp body down onto a bench and groaning; clearly he was going to be a little late getting clean. Stiles knew he should move, he had promised to drive Scott over to Allison's after the game, but he was just _so _tired that he needed some time to recharge.

"Hey Danny," He shouted, lifting his head a little as Danny started rifling through his locker for some clean clothes. "Can you do me a solid and take Scott home? I'm gonna be late." His arms were spread in an amused shrug as he motioned to the other boys, most of whom were now clean, naked, and shrugging themselves into fresh underwear and jeans.

"You owe me." Danny grinned, a plan formulating in his mind. "How about another visit with your cousin?"

"Sure, sure, Miguel's here all week." Stiles replied with a grin, finally feeling he had enough energy to shower as the last boy left the tiled shower room. He could hear Danny explaining the change of plans to Scott as he wiggled free of his shirt and shorts, keeping his boxers on to try and cover his semi hard dick; a locker room full of naked guys was the most inconvenient place for a horny Stiles to be right now.

Humming tunelessly as he lathered himself with body wash, Stiles thought about what it would be like to have sex with Danny. He didn't mean to think of his friend like _that_, but it was pretty hard when he was the only gay guy he knew. He could feel his arousal hardening under the hot spray of the shower as images of muscular chests, strong thighs, and stubbled cheeks flashed through his mind.

The place was deserted, Stiles noted, as he peeped his head out from around the partition wall that divided the changing and shower areas. His lip was clamped between his top and bottom teeth as he thought about what to do; it was pretty risking jerking off in the school showers, but that kind of made it even hotter.

Under the now lukewarm spray of water was as good as place as any, plus it would wash away any markers of his illicit activity.

"Oh, mm." His head was thrown back, a small smile playing on his lips as the amazing feeling of his dick finally getting what it needed washed over him, the other hand rubbing up and down his thigh repeatedly. Not for the first time, Stiles reflected on how _good _it felt to jerk off, he could only imagine what sex was like, probably wonderful, amazing, mind blowing, all of the above.

It wasn't like he _meant to _start thinking what he did next, he even felt a little guilty about it, but soon Danny's somewhat bulky frame morphed into that of his best friends. Stiles would never, ever tell Scott what he sometimes thought about when he was alone at night, the whole thing would pretty much destroy their friendship, but hey, he could still _think _it! Besides, he had some pretty good material to work with. Being best friends with a guy for almost all your life gave you ample opportunity to admire him naked, he had only had a few fleeting glances, but the memory of walking in on Scott jacking off one day last summer was firmly engrained in his mind, often used when Stiles was fantasising about him.

"Scott.." Stiles groaned, imagining his friends beautiful lips wrapped around his dick, his perfect ass on display for Stiles to admire as he bobbed up and down...

"Stilinski?! What the hell!?" A mouthful of hot water went down Stiles' throat as he heard the voice echoing through the showers, unsuccessfully trying to cover his dick as he turned around, bent double to protect his naked body from the frowning eyes of Jackson Whittemore.

"I – I – uh.. I thought everyone was gone." Stiles spluttered, his face burning. His embarrassed cheeks got even redder as he took in the naked, glorious body of the co-captain, who was making no move to cover his _very _impressive dick, sitting semi-hard between his muscled thighs. He couldn't tear his eyes off the thing, sure he had snuck a few glances in Jackson's direction, how could he not?! But he had never been so turned on by the sight of him. The jocks arrogance had always been a turn off for Stiles, but right now he couldn't imagine anything better than being pushed around by Jackson, hopefully as that glorious manhood was pushed inside him.

"You stole my jerk off space." Jackson grinned, not making any move to leave. He didn't know what to do now that he had found Stiles invading his own oasis. He always came to the showers after practice, the sport got his blood pumping, got him turned on, made him need a release.

"Well, uh – you'll have to come back another time." Stiles had never been so embarrassed in his entire life, especially when he looked down and realised his dick – which was still hard as steel – was making no progress towards softening, and was sticking out between his splayed fingers.

"You know I heard you say Scott's name. How far has your bromance gone?" The smirk on Jackson's face made Stiles' jaw drop. It almost hit the floor as Jackson punched the silver button and stepped under the spray of water next to Stiles.

"What are you -?" Stiles' sentence turned to mush as Jackson gave him a sideways grin and started rubbing his hands all over himself. Never taking his eyes from Stiles as he started touching every and any muscle he could get his hands on; there were plenty to choose from, the guy was _ripped_.

Jackson was hot and he knew it. Stiles had always hated that about him, but now it was the hottest thing in the world as he started rubbing his muscles, his jutting hipbones, stroking the meat between his thighs. It was the god damn sexiest show he could have ever imagined, and Stiles was painfully hard as he watched with a dumbstruck expression. Jackson used a squirt of shower gel to oil up his body, taking a step backwards so the water wouldn't wash away the foamy lather. Every muscle was caressed and massaged, a smirk on his face the entire time, turning to give Stiles a view of the two scoops of perfection that were his ass, spreading his cheeks very slightly as he rubbed his hands across the taut flesh.

Stiles had always thought of himself as a bottom, but his mind was doing back-flips all the way into the land of a top as Jackson bent over to show Stiles just how hot the guy in front of him was, rubbing the white foam on his palm into the tiny little tight hole nestling in the ring of muscle, moving down to his thighs and letting his fingers dig into the muscle that criss crossed underneath the skin. His entire body tensed up as Jackson leaned over, that same cocky expression peering out, upside down, between his legs.

"The things I could do to you..." Stiles muttered, finally letting his dead weight of a hand move across to touch his dick, a sharp hiss echoing through the room as his eyelids fluttered at the amazing sensation. Jackson was enjoying an equally hot show as he put on one of his own. The water cascading down Stiles' surprisingly muscled body was all the props he needed, giving his body a shine of glistening temptation as it fell down the lithe frame, pooling together as it fell down his abdomen and onto the base of his cock before it separated again, showcasing the endless spread legs. The jock was fully hard by now, watching with a twinkle in his eye as Stiles groaned when the beautiful ass in front of him was turned away, that groan turning to a quick intake of breath when he saw Jackson's pride and joy, a hard, thick tube of lust jutting out of his muscular hips to nestle in his sparse treasure trail.

"Why don't you come over here?" Jackson said with a grin, giving his dick a few strokes with one hand, the other playing with his rock hard nipples.

"You have to do me after." Stiles had meant to say Jackson had to return the favour Stiles was about to do for him, the blush already on his face darkening as he saw Jackson raise his eyebrows.

"Oh, I'll _do you_. I knew you'd be a slut, Stilinski." Jackson bit his lip as he smiled. If Stiles wasn't painfully hard and hornier than he had ever been in his life he'd consider punching Jackson in the face, but it was such a nice face. Stiles crossed the three steps between their streams of water, joining Jackson under his. It was like an electric shock coursed through his body when his fingers touched Jackson's hard, wet skin. The teenager felt like he was made of marble, Stiles wouldn't have been surprised to find a sculpture with just as hard a body as Jackson had. Even _touching _him was threatening to make Stiles cum, he felt like he was running his shaky fingers over perfection.

Any bit of skin he could reach was caressed, small moans coming from the shorter blondes lips as Stiles' hands ran across his abs, his ass, his pecs, his thighs, his back. As hard as it was, Stiles kept away from the ultimate prize, only letting his fingers graze over the top of Jackson's dick fleetingly before it was gone, practically driving the other guy to insanity. Long fingers entwined in Whittemore's hair, yanking his head back and eliciting a moan of desire before Stiles pressed his lips onto the tensed neck before him, sucking and biting and licking, water rolling around his lips and onto his tongue as he left the red mark on Jackson's neck. How he would explain that to Lydia he didn't know, and right now he didn't care.

"Suck me." Jackson panted, loving how he didn't have to worry about _feelings _and _being conscientious _as he forced Stiles down with a palm on top of his close cut hair, groaning when Stiles kissed the join between his legs and his pelvis, his lips melding with the pubes that had started to spread from Jackson's crotch. It was blissful agony when Stiles neglected his cock and took one bulbous testicle into his mouth instead, letting one hand play with the other ball as the other stroked the small of his back, thumb and index finger pressing into the two small delves in the flesh.

Stiles had discovered, with a pang of pride, that he was a natural at pleasing guys, and who better for his first time than Jackson Whittemore? He rolled the huge sphere in his mouth round and around, hollowing out his cheeks and almost grinning (it was pretty hard with someones balls in your mouth...) when he heard the moans from above him. His hands left Jackson's back and crotch, fumbling around on his chest for the two small buds that the jock in front of him seemed to love playing with, tweaking and pinching at the hard, extended skin as he started on the other ball.

"Come on." Jackson urged Stiles along, using his hands – now free from his nipples thanks to Stiles' help – to pull the boy off his balls, taking his dick in one hand and pressing it to the wanting lips beneath him. Despite a thought of being found dead on the floor from being choked flashing through Stiles' mind for a second, he took the dick in front of him into his mouth gladly, letting Jackson guide it into him, lips stretching around its girth, creating as much saliva as he could with his suddenly dry glands to lube the thing up.

"Oh, _god_." Jackson threw his head back and let out a low, deep moan as Stiles started running his tongue across his slit, moving down to the rim of the engorged head and running his tongue all along the outside while he was still inside his mouth. His whole body shuddered when he felt persistent fingers on his hole, if he still had his wits about him he would have clenched his muscled cheeks and tried to force the fingers away, but it was as if his hole needed those fingers. Wet from the water above, Stiles was exploring the ring of muscle beneath his fingers, trailing circles around the barely there hole – the guy was tighter than he could have imagined. Strong hands connected with the back of his dark hair and started forcing him down the length in front of him, and despite what Stiles had read he felt no desire to push himself away when Jackson's cock hit the back of his throat.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." Jackson kept muttering as he held Stiles in place. Stiles let his tongue move as much as it could – which was not very much with his mouth so full – and made vibrating noises with his throat, stimulating Jackson's arousal till while simultaneously sinking one finger inside of him, making the guy practically vibrate with pleasure.

That finger was very nearly the end of Jackson. He had never had anything up his ass in his life and now he cursed himself for not trying it out sooner. A huge smirk spread across his face as he surveyed the scene below him; Stiles' hollowed cheeks bobbing back and forth on his dick, burying himself all the way to the hilt with Jackson's guidance, the finger inside of him exploring, probing deeper into the sensitive flesh. When Stiles hit his prostate, ran his tongue over the slit of Jackson's dick on his way down, and fondled his balls with one hand, it became too much. Heat pooled in his abdomen, every muscle in his body tensed, his eyes clenched shut, a loud, deep groan came up from his throat, and the balls between Stiles' fingers tightened as he came. Hot, sticky, gushing strands of white forced their way into Stiles' mouth, running down his throat and from the corners of his mouth as he continued to plunge his head back and forth, licking and sucking and greedily trying to get as much of Jackson's dick as he could.

Jackson very nearly fell over on his violently shaking legs as he came, loving how Stiles took the result of his lust without a word of complaint; the guy actually looked happy to do it. Pulling him up from the wet tiles, he finally let their lips connect under the hot spray of the water, tasting himself on Stiles lips, on his tongue, running his hands all over the other boys body.

"My turn." Stiles, with a smirk almost in the league of Jackson hovering on his lips, said as he took the shoulders in front of him between his fingers and forced them down.

Jackson sank to the ground with hunger in his eyes.


	2. Part II

**Part II**

Jackson returned the favour in full. He licked down Stiles length and took the head into his mouth without a moments hesitation. He was tired after depositing his load into Stiles' mouth, but horniness won out, and his dick was soon hardening once more as he tasted pre-cum when he flicked his tongue back and forth over Stiles' slit.

"Ohh my fucking god..." Stiles groaned above him, his voice loud and high and whiney, unable and not caring to try and control himself as Jackson started mimicking everything Stiles had done. He hadn't a clue that Stiles had never sucked someone in all his life, the guy had been a natural, as far as Jackson was concerned he must have been giving blowjobs for years, and Jackson – as a man virgin himself – just followed Stiles' lead, not caring that his usual role of dominance was reversed as he was forced down the dick in his mouth, gagging when it hit the back of his throat.

The gagging that he had just experienced strangely turned Jackson on, taking the lead and grabbing hold of Stiles' firm ass with both hands, forcing his pelvis back and forth, his dick hitting the back of Jackson's throat over and over. Jackson swirled his tongue over every inch of the meat in his mouth, pressing it into the side of his cheeks and letting the teeth there give it a little nip, a groaning Stiles clearly enjoying himself. He pressed his fist into Stiles' balls as his hand worked its way up and down the length while his mouth pleasured the head, kneading the tight sac every time his hand reached the base of Stiles' rather impressive member.

"You like this?" Jackson couldn't resist making Stiles beg for it, coming off his cock and looking up at him, both balls rolling around between his confident fingers. Even in his lust Stiles didn't want to give him the satisfaction, but he was a little past the point of Jackson knowing just how good he was by the moans that were coming from Stiles' throat.

"Yes. Yes, yes." The words mixed with a deep moan as Jackson took his dick back into the warm, wet confines of his mouth, his fingers rubbing up and down his thighs a few times, the slight hairs there bristling as he moved up and down, before snaking around to Stiles' ass, a thumb grazing over the sensitive spot between his hard girth and his ass while rubbing between the clenched cheeks with his free fingers. Strong hands massaged the muscles in his legs, kneaded the flesh of his ass, tweaked and fumbled with his nipples, all as Jackson gave Stiles the pleasure he had always wanted and never thought would come.

Speaking of coming, that's just what he did. He couldn't hold out, as much as he wanted too, his eyes stretched wide, eyeballs rolling back, seeing the head beneath him come off his dick and start pumping it as the white juices spattered across Jackson's chest, neck, and face.

"_OH –_ fu – fuck – fa – shi – ahh -" Unintelligible words spewed from Stiles' lips as he came harder than he ever had before, the entire world a blurry vision as Jackson continued to play with his dick. White gunk was matting his hair, blobs of the stuff marring his cheek and running down his chin when Stiles was finally done. Jackson hadn't been willing to swallow the stuff, but he hadn't flinched when he felt the hot spray touching his face.

Tentatively, he reached out a finger and touched it to the liquid on his face, looking up at Stiles as he put it into his mouth and tasted the salty product of Stiles' passion. Stiles had never seen something so hot in his life as Jackson sucked on his own finger, that is, until he started to rise, taking one of Stiles fingers and dabbing it into the semen while he wetted his own with the same spot; he took the other teens finger in his mouth as Stiles sucked on Jackson's, tasting himself and feeling his finger receiving the same treatment his dick had just been pleasured with.

Fingers were tangled within the sweat and water and cum that coated Jackson's hair as the two kissed, their lips pressed together in a ferocious battle of tongues, both of them knowing this moment could be fleeting, wanting to enjoy the safety of the shower room and the passion it had awoken in both of them.

"I want you to do it." Stiles mumbled as through the kiss. He didn't know if this moment could ever, or would ever happen again. He was more horny than he ever thought possible, and he wanted Jackson inside of him.

A smirk was Jackson's reply. "Of course you do." He grinned, grabbing Stiles by the waist and giving his ass a slap. "Jump on." Stiles' feet left the wet tiles beneath him as he jumped, wrapping his legs around Jackson's waist and entwining his arms around the muscular neck before him. Sloppy, wet, wanting sounds echoed through the locker room as the two of them waded in, kissing all the way from the shower to the harsh wooden bench Jackson laid the other teen down on, softening the surface with a towel underneath him.

The jock rooted through Danny's locker, hoping to god that his best friend had some lube. He wasn't going to stop if he couldn't find any, but no one ever said Stiles had to be in pain when he fucked him. A smile crossed his face when he found the small bottle at the back of his locker, that smile growing wider and mingling with a groan of appreciation when he turned to see Stiles with his legs spread wide, his feet clamped together a few inches from his ass, one finger circling his hole as the other played with his already growing arousal.

Jackson thanked god they were both teenagers who were always geared up and ready for any sort of sexual encounter as he stood behind Stiles head, giving his hard dick a few encouraging strokes before he lowered it down into Stiles' mouth. There was something so hot, he thought, about the person beneath you being totally out of control, having to give you their complete trust not to gag them or make it painful. He slipped the head of his cock beyond the boundary of Stiles' bruised lips, his legs spread almost as wide as Stiles', lowering his body by bending his knees and watching with glee as his arousal disappeared into the mouth beneath him. His pelvis had a life of its own, jutting and rolling in all manner of directions as Stiles' gave him head for the second time.

"You better stop or I'll never make it to your ass." Jackson told Stiles through his moans, wondering where he learnt that amazing technique. The guy seemed to have no gag reflex and the most talented tongue he had came across in his life. Stiles let Jackson's girth out of his mouth with a popping sound, rubbing his hands all over the other teens thighs as he shimmied down over a naked Stiles, one leg on either side of the bench, his beautiful ass in direct view before he reached the end and turned around.

He didn't have a condom, but neither of them cared. Stiles gulped when his eyes lingered on the steely cylinder Jackson was lubing up with one hand, the gulps mixing with a high, shocked moan when the he felt Jackson's free hand pressing onto his hole, wet with cold lube, running circles around the ring of muscle a few times before one strong, assured finger slipped inside him. Jackson eased his body on top of Stiles', supporting his weight with his legs on either side of the bench, creating a current of lust between them as their dicks ground together, one hand preparing his hole as the other tweaked a hard, pink nipple, his lips tasting Stiles' skin, teeth sinking gently into his neck.

Stiles could feel Jackson's armpit hair grazing his knees as his feet ran up and down the bench of their own accord, pushing his legs and knees into Jackson's arms, pressing them into his back and feeling the ribs beneath his muscle. Two fingers were gently exploring his hole, Jackson muttering 'shh' sounds as he saw the pain flit across Stiles' face for a second when he forced him open too suddenly. Copious amounts of lube let him insert a third, ignoring Stiles uncomfortable expression for a second as he reached for that sweet spot inside, the look on the flushed face beneath him morphing into shocked pleasure when he ran the tip of his middle and index fingers along that hard ball inside him.

"Ready?" Jackson asked, his face deadly serious. Stiles nodded, wrapping his arms around Jackson's back and pulling his chest closer, feeling the hard pectoral muscles pressing onto him. He barely contained a scream when Jackson's fingers left him and were replaced with his dick. He felt like he was being ripped open, stretched to his limit, but the full feeling that was perpetrating him more and more was overriding any pain he was experiencing, revelling in how it felt to have someone _inside _of him. Jackson let his lips press against Stiles' once more to mask any screams as he pushed into him further, knowing that once he hit the prostate any pain would go away. It didn't go away, but Stiles was _more _than happy to deal with a little pain in his sphincter when he felt Jackson's cock hit the spot his fingers had been massaging a few minutes earlier.

"Shit – fuck." Stiles muttered, not really hearing the profanities of lust Jackson was muttering through his ringing ears and starry eyes. He thought he might pass out from how good it felt, especially as Jackson pulled back and eased his way slowly back inside, stopping for just a second to add more lube on his third thrust. They didn't bother to contain their moans, both of them stopping the wet, messy kiss they were engaged at different moments while they had sex on the bench right there in the locker room. Blonde hair was dripping with sweat that added to the water from the shower, his hands running over every inch of Stiles' body as he slowly thrust himself in and out of the tight hole surrounding his dick, throwing his head back to groan when Stiles tightened around him, feeling lips and teeth and tongue attacking his neck as Stiles kept clenching his hole, seeing how crazy it was driving Jackson.

It felt so right to be connected – literally – both teens groaning, moaning, _screaming_ as they rode the wave, Stiles hands digging gashes into Jackson's back, pressing into the sides of his head and twining amongst the blonde, wet, hair as they kissed. Their torsos rubbing together felt like electric, both of them wet with a sheen of sweat, sliding back and forth easily as Jackson sped up just a little, hitting that amazing spot faster, his work being rewarded by even higher and louder moans from Stiles, who had never in a million years thought something could feel so amazing.

His rock hard member was being taken care of, leaving his hands free to keep caressing and worshipping every inch of Jackson as the talented fingers touching him in all the right places stroked his cock faster and faster, twisting and squeezing, thumb running across the slit, pushing in harder when they passed over the engorged head, taking Stiles to places he had never been before as he was pleasured inside and out. Jackson was groaning harder and deeper than he had before as he drilled Stiles with his steely member, his pace increasing as he let his lips be bitten, his neck full of red marks from Stiles' teeth, his back and the sides of his ass and his ass itself covered in faint red marks from Stiles' fingers and nails pressing into the flesh in his lusty craze.

"I'm – _ah_!" Stiles never got to finish his sentence, eyes fluttering in a craze as Jackson continued to gently fuck him, hitting the spot inside over and over and over again, his hands touching, prying, kneading at any flesh they could reach. Thick white spurts erupted from his dick – a dick that was so hard it almost hurt – coating his abdomen and chest. He could feel Jackson's lust unloading inside of him, the sticky, wet substance coating his insides, trying to escape around Jackson's girth.

"That was fucking – oh god." Much like Stiles, Jackson could hardly finish his sentence, a flush coating the flesh under his cheekbones. He laid his head on Stiles' chest and moaned at the contact, despite being _inside _of the guy beneath him, just laying like this was amazing. His dick was still buried inside as Stiles panted and ran his fingers softly through Jackson's hair, muttering his appreciation as the two rejoiced in the feeling of their bodies pressed together.


	3. Part III

**Authors Note:**

**We get a little darker here, I was going to make this a one-shot, but the idea kind of just came to me. I think it's pretty hot, even if it is quite angsty and dark. **

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**Part III**

"Stiles?" Jackson mumbled, his head still resting on the other boys chest. He could feel the slow, steady rise and fall of the body beneath him, could hear Stiles' heartbeat, a soft thump in his ear. He didn't know what to say or do now that it was over, now that both of them were so exhausted they could hardly even begin to contemplate having to move, having to leave each other.

Jackson didn't want Stiles to leave, and that scared him to death. He had Lydia, had his wealth, his popularity, he never thought he'd feel a need to add Stiles to that group too. Both of them flinched when they heard noises from the other side of the locker room; groans and angry shouts.

"Shit." Stiles whispered, looking down as Jackson turned his head to look up from under his lashes. Stiles didn't know if he'd ever seen something as beautiful as the vulnerability that flashed across the face in front of him for a just a second; the eyes wide, lashes spread apart and wet, though he never registered that the rest of Jackson's body was dry by this point; blonde hair darkened by sweat and pushed back off his face, jumbled together in a messy, irresistible style; a slight flush still marring the space under his prominent cheekbones; his kiss-swollen, bruised lips parted; strong fingers digging into Stiles skin for reassurance.

The lockers that backed onto the row of similar metal rectangles right beside Jackson and Stiles' bench shook as someone slammed a door on the other side shut, grumbling some unheard words.

"What's that smell?" They heard the voice ask, getting closer to them now. Both of them knew they should move, but they just kept staring at each other, both nervous about who could discover them but more nervous about having to separate their bodies and quite possibly never touch each other in such an intimate way again. Just laying like that, Jackson reflected, felt a hundred times more intimate than when his dick was buried inside Stiles.

"I'm going to die." Stiles gasped, taking in the figure that had appeared around the end of the row. His eyes were narrowed, back stooped slightly, neck turning this way and that with his nose stuck in the air.

"Stiles?!" Scott shouted, his jaw dropping while his eyes widened to three times their normal size. "_Jackson_?!" Nimble steps let him cross the room in a fraction of a second, trying to seize Jackson by the non-existent collar of his shirt, pinching the skin of his neck instead like a dog carrying her child between her teeth.

"Scott, stop!" Stiles shouted as Scott picked Jackson up with ease and slammed him into the lockers. Jackson felt the wind leave his body, felt like his ribs were being crushed as he was pulled off the locker before being slammed back again, leaving a dent in the metal and a bruise on his back.

"What the fuck were you doing to him?!" Scott screamed, his face pressed almost right up to Jackson's. He didn't expect to see sadness and apology in those blue eyes, he expected hatred and a smarmy smirk. Words of protest from Stiles were waved away as he tried to process the scene before him. He hadn't smelt the pungent scent of sex that his wolf senses could pick up when he first came in, locker rooms were hotbeds of smell; deodorant and sweat and shower gel and nasty old shoes. His almost blinding anger might have had something to do with it too.

"Scott you big idiot, get off him!" Stiles wished his best friend wasn't bolstered by wolf powers right now, he knew human Jackson could kick human Scott's ass in a heartbeat. The thought inexplicably made him a little proud. He tried to bury it deep down in his belly.

Scott was still thinking, remembering that Jackson hadn't been moving or punching or talking when he was laid on Stiles. At first he had thought the jock was pinning down his best friend, attacking him, but now he realised that wasn't the case, realised that the two were laid together; it almost looked loving.

His amber blazing eyes roamed over the scene before him, a very naked Jackson and Stiles, both with damp, sweaty hair and sticky congealed messes over their bodies, the bottle of lube on the floor, the way Stiles was panting as if what Scott was doing was the absolute worst thing in the world, and the way Jackson was looking down at his feet, guilt and loneliness written all over him.

"You two were fucking?!" He finally put the pieces together, giving Jackson another slam into the locker, glad to hear the scared whimper that the co-captain couldn't keep inside.

"So what?! Yeah, we were, now get off him!" Stiles was trying to paw at Scott's arms, trying to get him off, but a rage was upon Scott like he had never felt before. He had back came to school after visiting Allison's so he could hit around a few balls, to vent some of his anger after the breakup he had just endured. _We can't be together right now, I'm sorry_. He remembered her words and they made his heart shatter and blaze with anger at the same time.

"Get out Stiles!" Scott barked, not taking his eyes from Jackson's, willing the guy to look up so he could figure out what he was feeling. Right now he wanted to punch the guy until he couldn't walk, to teach him a lesson for replacing his best friend with this guy who actually liked Jackson. No one _liked _Jackson, especially not Stiles.

"You get out! Come on Scott, this isn't funny!" Stiles didn't care that he was naked and vulnerable as he jumped on Scott's back, trying to drag his head back to get him off. His legs were around Scott's waist, trying to claw and scratch and punch and free Jackson from his grip.

"Stiles!" Scott yelled with his teeth bared, finally letting go of Jackson, satisfaction coursing through him as the jock sunk to the floor in a dejected heap. He and Stiles were spinning around the room like a tornado, he could have got him off, could have broken every bone in his body, but this was Stiles, he couldn't hurt his best friend. He felt the cuts and gashes on his body healing almost instantly as he moved across the room with a furious Stiles shouting profanities in his ears. Stiles thought he was winning, thought he was driving Scott to the door.

Amber eyes were still blazing with hatred and lust and anger as he swung open the locker room door and dumped Stiles on the floor outside, almost laughing at his shocked expression as he left him there, naked and bristling with fury, slamming the door on his quickly scrambling up body and turning the lock.

The sound of fists banging on the metal sent dull thuds through the room, Stiles' shouts falling on deaf ears as Scott stalked back through the cold, dark rows of lockers to where Jackson was still heaped on the ground. His knees were clasped around his arms, head resting on his chin, eyes screwed up tight and one glistening tear dropping down his face.

Scott felt nothing. He knew he wasn't himself, knew the full moon was almost reaching its height, in a few hours he would hardly be able to control himself. He knew he shouldn't be putting himself in a situation like this; anger over Allison was pulsing through him; anger towards Stiles for siding with Jackson over his best friend; anger towards Jackson himself for doing whatever he had done to Stiles. All that anger burned through his veins like a river of white hot hatred, his snarling face almost didn't look like himself any more as he picked up Jackson and slammed him onto the locker.

"McCall... don't." Jackson whimpered, fear coursing through him. He didn't know what was going to happen, but he knew this wasn't the Scott he bickered with and fought for captain, this was a monstrous creature with crazed yellow eyes. He felt another tear fall down his cheek when he realised that he was hard, his erection pressing onto Scott's leg.

"You fucking slut, you're horny as fuck." Scott barked, feeling the hard arousal against his thigh. He could smell the lust and fear and sex coming from Jackson in waves. It was mixed with something that reminded him strangely of guilt.

"Is that why you were here with Stiles, huh?!" Scott slammed him into the locker again, turning him around so his own hard crotch was pressed against his naked ass. "You wanted him to fuck you, didn't you? You're so fucking disgusting, you just use people for sex. I bet you do it with Danny all the time." Scott didn't hear anything Jackson said as he ripped his shirt apart and started fumbling with his belt buckle.

Jackson could hardly even protest he was so scared and turned on at the same time. When he felt the hard, defined muscles press onto his naked back he whimpered and almost came and almost pissed himself in fear at the same time. He could hear Stiles' muffled cries in the distance, his fists still banging against the door.

"I'm gonna show you why I should be the only captain." Scott grunted, finally freeing his hard dick from the denim prison and rubbing himself up and down between Jackson's cheeks. His hands weren't needed to trap him any more, he had him pressed to the locker by his dick and chest, so he let them roam down to his waist, grabbing onto the muscle and bone with furious fingers that left hand prints in the flesh.

"How much do you want it?!" Scott grunted, nibbling at the back of Jackson's neck, his teeth and lips leaving even deeper marks than the ones Stiles had left. Jackson felt like he was dying. He wanted it to be Stiles behind him, wanted those teeth to be Stilinski's, and he hated himself for enjoying the way Scott was treating him. He was always on top, always his smarmy, cocky self, but Scott didn't care. He saw right through Jackson in that instant to the desire that laid within him.

"Tell me you fucking want it and you can have it." Scott whispered, a slow, eerie whisper that sent shivers up his spine and sent his dick jumping at the same time. He _did _want it, but it was all so wrong, so bad, so slutty and, he thought, so what he deserved. He had pushed people around all his life and now he was being paid back in spades. He wanted it, resigning himself to the fact that it was karma or god or _someone_ paying him back.

"I want it." Jackson said through clenched teeth. His body pressing against the metal, his cock grinding over the cool, slightly bumpy surface, Scott's sweaty, muscular body and hard dick pressing against him, it was all too much; he was going to cum any instant.

"I know you fucking do," Scott growled, grabbing Jackson's hair and yanking his head back, "I just wanted to hear you say it." With one thrust he plunged inside Jackson's hole, the pre-cum oozing from his engorged dick the only lubrication he felt the guy deserved, burying himself to the hilt and groaning at the feeling of the hole stretching around his impressive girth.

Jackson couldn't contain his scream. It hurt like hell, his stomach was doing back flips of guilt and joy at the same time as he realised how much he enjoyed it, how he loved not setting the pace, loved how Scott wouldn't warn him or prepare him as he pulled all the way out and quickly slammed his hips back down. Jackson was moaning with pain and pleasure at the same time as his sweet spot was hit for the second time, trying to touch his own cock but finding his hands slapped away.

"I'm gonna make you cum without even touching yourself." Scott assured him with a snarl, taking hold of Jackson's hips and slamming into him again, pushing the other boys cock up and down against the metal as he started rolling his hips, biting and kissing the suntanned neck before him as he thoroughly fucked his co-captain.

It was rough, it was carnal, as befit a wolf raging with fury. Scott slammed into him relentlessly, his eyes lighting up when he heard the wanting moans that were pouring from Jackson's mouth, his hands gripping the waist tighter as he started to set an almost inhuman pace of fury. The sound of the metal being bashed by Jackson's body was sending echoes through the locker room, the other teen only held in place by being between the heaving frame of Scott and the cool metal of the locker. His legs felt like jelly, it was as if arousal was wiping away his memory of how to hold himself up. Tears of guilt at what he was doing mixed with moans of appreciation as he was slammed over and over again.

Scott's cock was pulsating, every vein standing on edge when he felt Jackson take one of Stiles' tips and tighten his hole around the meat inside him, making Scott throw his head back with how _good _it felt. He had never felt something so tight, someone so wanting, deep grunts emitting from his open mouth every time he buried himself inside Jackson, rolling his hips when he was fully inside so his pubes grazed against the two hard scoops of muscular ass, driving both of them crazy.

"Mc-ca – _ah_!" Jackson's words fell apart as he came, the locker in front of him being coated with spurts of lusty white over and over, feeling his insides squirm when Scott started coming too, plunging his teeth into Jackson's shoulder as his body vibrated and shook with the force of his orgasm, heat burning through every inch of him as his anger was finally released.

Scott was still a raging ball of fury, admiring how slutty Jackson looked when Scott pulled out and saw the cum smearing the locker and dripping from his ass.

"You slut." He grunted, pulling up the jeans pooled around his ankles and turning on his heel. His shirt was in tatters, still hanging from his shoulders with all of his chest exposed, his amber eyes subsiding slightly as he walked, the release finally abating some of his anger.

Stiles' face was a mask of tears and red, blotchy skin as Scott opened the door and stalked straight past him down the abandoned hallway.

"What did you do?!" Stiles screamed, not waiting for an answer. He took in Scott's torn shirt, his sweaty face and obviously still slightly hard dick through the fabric, panic shooting through his chest as he ran to find Jackson.

Stiles stopped his frantic movements when he finally found him in the shower, head bowed, arms supporting himself on the cold tiles, trying to wash away what had just happened. Stiles didn't say anything. He had heard it, or as much as he could through the door, the screams and the moans and he knew that what just happened in here was almost too twisted for him to contemplate.

"Stiles?" Jackson muttered, finally noticing the other boys figure. He had never thought Stiles would come back into the room, thought he would have left ages ago when he realised what a slut Jackson was. Lust had blocked the jocks ears, he never heard Stiles' shouts while he was being fucked.

A shaking, nervous, Stiles crossed the room, wrapping his arms around Jackson from behind, feeling his whole body quivering despite being under the burning hot water. He sunk to the floor with Jackson in his arms, laying his back against the cool tiles and sitting with Jackson between his legs, his arms wrapped tight around his chest. The armpit hair grazing against his flesh was transformed from its sexy state just a few hours ago to heartbreaking as Jackson clawed and fumbled at Stiles fingers, catching them between his own and clasping down, pressing their hands to his heart.


	4. Part IV

**Authors Note:**

**I stole Jackson's nickname from 'These Boys have Wicked Mouths' by 'Boy On Strings', I know I shouldn't, but it's such a charming nickname. I'm not actually sure if the nickname was created during that story, I've read it in quite a few others during my latest Stiles/Jackson kick, but that's where I saw it first. If you haven't checked out that story go do so now!**

**Let me know how you feel about the story so far, it was planned to be a hotbed of Beacon Hill's men in a series of delicious one-shot sex scenes, but it has just taken on a life of its own and morphed to what it is now.**

* * *

**Part IV**

"Just take me home. Please." Jackson whispered, sitting beside Stiles in the blue jeep. His fingers were entwined with Stiles', his thigh pressed against the other boys. At any moment he expected Scott to appear from the foliage that surrounded the parking lot and attack him once more. The excitement that pulsed through his dick at the thought made him want to cry.

"I'm not leaving you alone tonight." Stiles whispered in response, starting up the car and heading for his house. He knew his dad was working late, knew he wouldn't come in the room without knocking first, even if he would have a problem with Stiles bringing a boy home he would have just dealt with it, his heart was shattering for Jackson and there was no way he was letting him sit in the darkness of what he supposed was a huge, cold, empty mansion all alone.

Neither of them spoke, there was nothing to say. Stiles couldn't even fill the silence with his ramblings, it was hardly the time; what had just happened had shattered the image of the Scott he had known all his life. The guy was a wolf now; a monster who had practically raped someone that Stiles, surprisingly, cared for dearly.

It wasn't just a sex thing. He could feel that much. Something in his heart, a pang when he thought about the boy next to him, it let him know that he wanted Jackson for more than his body. Unrealised dreams of dating Jackson were slipping away as he thought back to Scott and how he had ruined everything. Ruined their friendship, ruined whatever Stiles and Jackson could have had. Perhaps, he thought, he and Jackson could have went back to his house, frolicked in the pool, watched a movie and had dinner. Had sex again. And again. And again.

By the way Jackson winced and clenched his fingers over the denim covering his ass on every bump and shake of the car, sex was definitely off the cards. Scott had practically torn the guy apart.

The Stilinski residence was in darkness when they pulled up outside, sitting in the warmth of the car for a few moments in silence.

"What if -" Jackson began, cutting himself off as he realised how stupid he was being. He glanced around the car with darting, nervous eyes, looking for those two orbs of blazing amber anger that he expected to be peering out from under the trees, or glaring from one of Stiles' windows. He felt safer in the car, with Stiles by his side. His hands fumbled for the other boys when a car drove by, panic shooting through his chest.

Stiles saw what he was doing, a knife of pity and sadness stabbing into his gut. "He's not here." He whispered, running his hands over Jackson's skin that, despite still being hot to the touch from the shower and the heat of the car, was covered in goose pimples.

Very slowly, he managed to coax Jackson from the jeep, the other boy clinging onto his hand as they walked up to the house. Jackson almost swallowed his tongue when a floorboard creaked beneath his feet, thinking for a second that it was Scott prowling around upstairs. The worst part about the fear, though, was when he remembered being ploughed by the sweaty, muscled teen and his cock hardened. He felt disgusting, felt like there was something wrong with him. Being with Stiles made the whole thing even worse because he felt so guilty, but he was too afraid to go home. Too afraid to leave Stiles, who would probably come to his senses and be as disgusted by Jackson as he was of himself.

"It's okay, come on." Stiles said quietly, taking Jackson by his waist and leading him upstairs. The jock was violently shaking by the time they reached Stiles' bedroom, the house, left unheated for hours, felt draughty and unwelcoming. They walked along hallways of darkness, Stiles' hands were occupied with leading Jackson, light switches left untouched as he started to strip the other boy down. By the time they were both naked Jackson thought his legs might collapse. He could never remember being so tired, but he didn't know if sleep would come. Fear, guilt, lust, love, anger, want, they were all rolling around in his stomach. He wanted to eat but knew he would just throw it up if he did.

"Thanks." Jackson said quietly as they slipped under the quilt. Stiles added two blankets to the top of the bulging duvet to try and warm them up. His skin was the best source of warmth, Stiles knew from scouts, pressing his chest onto Jackson's back, one arm bent so to create a makeshift pillow for Jackson, the other clutching his waist and pressing Jackson's body back against his own.

"Stiles?" Jackson asked quietly, his eyes closed, letting Stiles kiss his hair and whisper reassuring shushing sounds into the messy hair beneath him. Stiles liked Jackson's hair like this, almost dry after the shower at school, sticking out in all directions, his usual products and grooming tools forgotten and uncared for.

"Yeah?" He replied, running his fingers across each of Jackson's abs and through the dark line that ran down to the hair around his dick.

"What happened tonight?" Tears almost spilled out as images of what had happened ran through his head. All he had wanted was to jack off after practice. Stiles being there was a happy coincidence, he expected a blowjob then he'd have been on his way over to Lydia's for the main event. Never in a million years did he expect to have sex with Stiles, slow, passionate sex that made him rethink how he felt about the guy when he looked into those brown eyes. A tear managed to worm its way through his screwed up eyelids and wet Stiles' arm when he remembered Scott. Scott and his comments and his furious fucking and how slutty and useless and totally wonderful he had made Jackson feel.

"I shouldn't be here." Jackson continued, sniffling a little as he spoke. How could Stiles not hate him after what he had done? He had _asked for it_. It would have been better if Scott had raped him, Jackson thought, then he wouldn't have to feel so guilty.

"I want you here." Stiles replied. He had heard Jackson's screams of pleasure when he was with Scott and they had almost torn him apart, but hearing the things Scott had been saying to him while the locker smashed over and over with the force of his trusts, and now seeing him like this, he didn't care. All he wanted was for Jackson to be okay.

"I'm a dick." Jackson said, believing every word. He tried to move, but Stiles held him in place, wrapping his legs around him and trapping him. "Let me go." He said quietly, thrashing half-heartedly among the covers.

"No. Be quiet, Jacks." Stiles held him tighter. He knew he could have escaped with a little effort, but it was too hard to try. He was tired, happy, and completely content in Stiles' arms. The way he said the nickname calmed him, let him know that it was okay, that he was forgiven. It was a secret name that no one else called him, something between the two of them.

"Just go to sleep." Stiles muttered, kissing Jackson's neck and hair softly. Jackson complied.

He knew he was safe there.


	5. Part V

**Part V**

Scott had always been a good boy, for the most part. Everyone agreed he was a little slow, but he was sweet and funny and was always there to help you. On that night, he was a different person all together.

Allison had broken his heart when she broke up with him, wanting to keep the boy she loved away from her crazy family; especially her awful, one hundred percent mental grandfather who was determined to see Scott's body in a bloody, broken mess on the floor if he came within fifty feet of his progeny.

He had stalked his way through the deserted streets back to school. There was something about the nights of the full moon that made the residents of Beacon Hills retreat into the safety of their houses, and he was glad of it. It took all his self control to stop ripping the head off a plump little toddler who was riding down the street on his training wheels, a nervous looking parent clutching her cardigan tightly around her against the chill, leaves blowing and getting caught in her hair. He wanted to rip her face open. Wanted to fuck her and fuck her husband and kill them both.

With a growl he pushed the thoughts back, running along the street to escape temptation, headed for the one place he knew he'd be able to blow off steam; school. Lacrosse was an escape. Much like his co-captain, when he was playing the sport everything else fell away. His grades weren't great, he had no other real skills to speak of, what wolves went out and got a job? The lacrosse field had recently became his oasis.

The school was dark and deserted, the usual night guard scared away by the howls that could be heard from the woods that tried to invade the east side of the school complex. He wasn't afraid, why would he be? They were his brethren. He might not be part of Derek's pack, but the man would never hurt him, he would keep his incessant little pack away from Scott as long as he helped him out from time to time.

It was something Scott was more than willing to do if it kept the people he loved safe. His mom, Stiles, Allison. Even Jackson and Lydia. He didn't want them to get hurt. If Isaac's smarmy little face even appeared anywhere tonight he'd bend him over and show him what a real wolf could do. Clawed hands scratched at his own face as the thought of fucking Isaac came into his head. It was something about the moon, it was a catalyst for his sex drive, sending him over the edge. He'd fuck anyone he could when the moon was out, especially when he was in such an emotional turmoil.

Curses were sent up to whatever wolf-gods he thought he should worship as he smashed a window and slipped into the science lab. Allison should have known better, should have checked her pathetic little USB and found out that being emotional on the full moon was hardly a good thing. But she hadn't. She didn't care about him, he realised that now. She was a fucking slut.

Scott could have just walked round to the back of the school instead of smashing his way in just to get out on the other side, but it was more satisfying this way, marching through the endless hallways with metal clanging and scratching as he moved, dragging his extended claws against the lockers, pulling off the doors and watching as the pathetic little trinkets and pictures people hung on the inside flew in all directions.

He crashed his fist into the wall and left a gaping hole in the plaster, blood and skin staining the inside as his hand got caught among the metal bars that lined the inside of the walls. It was no big deal, his hand healed almost instantly as he pulled it out, leaving bits of his flesh hanging from the rusted wire.

His feet had seemed to carry him to math class, so he made the most of it and tore up a few books, dragged his nails across the whiteboard, threw the mouldy apple the teacher had left behind onto the opposite wall and watched with pleasure as it ruined the worksheets that had been pinned proudly to the wall. The sweet juice made the ink run, leaving the wall weeping black tears. The buckle of his belt clanged and jingled as he pulled his dick out and pissed all over the teachers desk, grunting with satisfaction when he turned to survey his work.

Lights were pulled down as he jumped up and ragged them from the thin wires they hung from, sending electric shocks down his spine that made his claws retract for a second, abated his anger for just an instant before he was on his way again and the wolf haze overcame him once more. In those instants his subconscious screamed at him to get out, to stop whatever he was doing and just go into the woods where he could tear and claw and bite at the trees and no one would care. This was his school, he shouldn't be doing it. But those thoughts were forgotten.

All the hallways he prowled down were wrecked, the possessions in the lockers littering the floor. He smelt something poignant and leaned over to sniff through a pile of books and junk, fishing out a joint. A wry spark of electricity from the broken light swinging around him touched his skin, and the Scott inside screamed for him to light it. He did. It tasted like nothing, did nothing. He had smoked pot a few times before, at parties and the like, and it usually mellowed him out.

Internal Scott groaned when he realised nothing was happening, and wolf Scott scowled when he managed to break his alter-egos spirit and push him back inside, coming to his senses with a pathetic little white thing in his hands. He threw it into a pile of books and watched the corner of the worn paper set alight, slowly worming its way through the rest of the book till it was a pile of ash, a wry piece jumping from the burning pile to another book. The flames started to devour that probably boring tome too, but Scott didn't stick around to find out.

Lacrosse sticks and balls were piled up under the bleachers, so he dragged them across to the field, growling with such ferocity at a boy thrusting into his girlfriend that they both screamed and ran into the distance. The Scott inside breathed a sigh of relief.

"Slut!" Scott screamed, lobbing a ball towards the goal so hard that he left a hole in the net. He imagined hitting Danny with the ball and smiled, suddenly regretting scaring the two teens away. He'd like to feed on them instead.

Internal Scott realised he was almost completely gone. When he had left Allison's the wolf inside was just a glimmer on the corner of his mind. When he walked through the streets the wolf had been getting closer, and by the time he reached school he was gone. He breathed a slight sigh of relief when he thought about where they where. School. There was no one at school at this time of night, the building was completely locked up, though there was always a way in. It must have been five hours since the bell went, maybe more. Lacrosse practice was two hours, and it had taken everyone a good half hour to get changed both before and after practice. He had left Allison's after that brutal hour, and now the wolf had been in control for the past sixty minutes.

The net was a series of holes by the time wolf Scott was done venting his anger. It had been an overriding feeling, a need to hit the balls even though the only thing that was going to make him feel better was sex. He growled when he realised internal Scott had been trying to burn time, trying to coax him gently into the woods. He was almost on the fringes of the forest, and he hadn't even realised he'd been moving.

With a growl he extended his claws, got on all fours and bounded towards the school, headed for the complete opposite end to the way he came in. He was going to smash up as much as he could. The gym window shattered as he entered the school once more, swinging his body from a basketball hoop and dragging the thing down as he did.

The locker rooms were his next destination. He knew it there, knew there were lots of tiles he could smash, lockers he could drag from their hinges, windows and poles and glass that could break under his will. He was a wolf. He had power.

Even wolf Scott could hardly stand the smell of the place, the overriding stench of sweat invading his nostrils. A low growl left his lips, slamming his fist into Stiles' locker and watching the picture of some boy with shaggy brown hair and a willing smile, his arm around Stiles, flutter to the ground. Then he smelt something.

It was sweaty, just like the rest of the room, but it was fresh. It was so close, tantalising, agonising. It was sexy, sweaty, lusty. He let his nose do the work, sniffing this way and that, turning a corner and seeing two figures on top of each other. He gulped and licked his lips, watching the boy on the bottom mouth some unheard words. They were naked, and he felt himself getting hard. Miles and miles of exposed flesh was just sat there, waiting for him.

"Stiles?! Jackson?!" He thought the words might have came from _him,_ but he wasn't sure. Internal Scott was bashing his fists against his mental prison.

"You two were fucking?!" This time the words definitely came from him, he had heard himself say them, though he had never meant for them to come out. With a deft hand he grabbed the closest boy and slammed him against the locker, pressing his face almost fully against his, smelling his skin. He could see glistening beads of nervous sweat, could smell the cum on his chest and hair, he was so turned on it was crazy. Someone was talking, but he couldn't hear.

Internal Scott screamed, using all the will he could to try and break out of the craze, but it was as if he could see the moon rising higher even through the dense, opaque walls of the locker room, a glittering, implacable orb that had him trapped.

"Get out Stiles!" He managed to scream, urging his friend to leave before something happened. Wolf Scott could feel the boy's, who internal Scott was screaming was Jackson, cock on his thigh; it set his blood pumping. He wanted to choke this wimp on his dick and fuck him senseless.

"Stiles!" Scott yelled, growling to try and push the voice back inside. He could feel something on his back, so he swung around, not bothering to try and pry the annoying thing off, looking down with a smirk when his prize fell to the floor. He threw the little thing outside, locking the door on it, and headed back to the – Jackson.

Jackson. He knew him, he thought. He had a friend, Danny? Who knew, who even cared. He was Scott's for the taking tonight. The Jackson was hunched on the lockers exactly where he left him, just like a good prize should be. He thought he might let him live for being so good as he picked him up and slammed him into the locker. The Jackson liked that, he could tell, the hard dick pressing into his thigh was a testament to it.

It said something, he saw the lips move, but he didn't hear.

"You fucking slut, you're horny as fuck." Scott barked, knowing he was telling the truth. "Is that why you're here with Stiles, huh?!" He turned the boy around, pressing his denim encased growth against the beautifully hard ass. Stiles. That was someone he couldn't forget. They had been friends for so many years that thoughts of him even invaded wolf Scott's mind. He was going to punish this spluttering boy for taking him away. He would punish him as if he was Allison at the same time, letting her know what would happen if she dared mess with him again.

"You wanted him to fuck you, didn't you? You're so fucking disgusting, you just use people for sex. I bet you do it with Danny all the time." Memories, distant, little things in the back of his mind, filtered through, everything he knew about this boy coming out. The Jackson had a beautiful body, and now it was his.

"I'm gonna show you why I should be the only captain." He grunted, pulling his dick out and rubbing it between the sweaty cheeks. He could smell the wanting lust on this boy, but he wanted him to say it. Wanted him to show how much he would love it, to show how Scott wasn't a pussy. Allison should have never left him.

"How much do you want it?!" He nipped at the skin of his neck and ran his exposed chest against the muscular back before him. He didn't even remember ripping open his shirt. "Tell me you fucking want it and you can have it." He continued, louder this time.

"I want it." The Jackson whimpered. They were the only words he had heard for hours, and the sound of the boys husky voice sent him over the edge, his cock jumped to full attention, lined up at the entrance to his hole. He ragged the wet hair back, leaning forward to whisper in his ear.

"I know you do, I just wanted to hear you say it." The feeling of his cock entering the tight hole was almost too much. It was so fucking good, was everything he needed. He pulled out and thrust himself back in, wanting to hear that delicious scream again. He could see The Jackson trying to reach his own cock, but he wasn't having that.

"I'm gonna make you cum without even touching yourself." He told him, believing every word of it. Strong thrusts of his hips, nips and bites and scratches at the boys skin, it was _so _much better than hitting a few balls around on the field.

He hardly knew what he was doing, his eyes were rolling into the back of his head as he used the body beneath him for his own pleasure and tasted the tantalising skin. He was screaming and moaning beneath his own hulking frame. The Jackson was a good prize, he reflected, pressing his hard chest against him as a reward, speeding up to give him what he wanted, slamming in and out and rolling his hips so all the nerves inside him would be pleasured and rewarded.

He was getting wilder and wilder, moaning at him to go faster and thrust in harder, he doubted he knew what he was saying himself, he was so out of it with lust and desire. He ploughed into him, imagining Allison and Erica and Isaac and everyone he had ever met in front of him as he fucked harder and faster. When he felt the hole around him tighten, stimulating his cock, he threw his head back and growled with pleasure, smelling fresh cum that drove him to release himself, depositing spurt after spurt of his juice inside it.

His lust dripping slowly from the used hole was so fucking hot he considered fucking him again, but he was bored now.

"You slut." He growled, turning on his heel and stomping out of the room. The words of the boy outside the door were ignored, a red, wet, sweaty boy who had a look of Stiles to him. He didn't know why a naked boy was outside the locker room, and he didn't care.

He headed for the woods, wondering if there was a wolf in there who he could fuck.


	6. Part VI

**Part VI**

Jackson's ass felt like it was on fire when he woke up. Stiles' hard arousal was pressing into him, but that wasn't the problem. In fact, that was welcome. It let him know Stiles wasn't disgusted by him, wasn't reeling at the thought that his best friend had been inside that ass last night. Though, Jackson thought, he should be.

Slipping from the flailing arms that tried to catch him, he slipped to the bathroom down the hall and examined himself in the mirror. He was the same. It was odd, he should be changed, there should be something written across his face. Slut would be a good title, he thought with a grimace. Turning around and spreading his cheeks, he saw his ass looked the same as ever. Just a tiny little furled ring of muscle, no gaping mess of blood and pain like how it felt. Every step towards the shower made him wince, though the hot water was welcoming.

Bruises marred his ribs and back from where he was slammed into the locker over and over again, and his thighs were raw from where they had chafed against the cold, bumpy metal. His neck looked like he had been mauled, covered in teeth marks from Scott, and little red patches from Stiles' love-bites. He looked a mess and he knew it, but he still felt turned on when he remembered everything that had happened. A tile shattered under the force of his punch, adding bloody knuckles to his bruised and battered body. He felt like a slut, a dirty, disgusting slut who had loved what Scott had done to him. A mental note was made to pay for the tile as he wrapped a towel around his waist and headed back to the bedroom. The fact that he couldn't even control himself enough not to smash up Stiles' house, who was practically a stranger when he really thought about it, made him feel even more dejected and horrible about himself.

The soiled clothes at the foot of the bed made his stomach churn, he couldn't bring himself to wear that underwear or that shirt, everything was sweaty and wet from the shower yesterday and the sweat that had been pouring from him in the car. He rooted through Stiles' drawers, being careful not to make much noise, and slipped on a baggy pair of plaid boxers, a pair of sweatpants and a baggy t shirt.

Stiles looked so peaceful, Jackson noticed, as he watched him sleep for a second. He wanted to get back into bed with him and kiss him till his bones turned to dust and he died from old age, but Stiles didn't deserve to put up with Jackson. Maybe this time yesterday he could have tried, could have attempted to make some sort of relationship work after the feelings that had ran through his mind and heart when they had been closer than he thought possible on the bench of the locker room. But he was ruined goods now, not worthy of Stiles' clearly huge heart. His lips lingered on Stiles forehead as he planted a kiss on him, chuckling slightly as Stiles started to grumble and swat his hand away, mumbling about five more minutes in bed. He was so sweet and relaxed as he laid there, Jackson could hardly tear his eyes away from him. The red marks on his neck were reminders of their passion, and all he wanted to do was give him more and more and more, to never stop kissing and loving him. But he couldn't.

Jackson knew he shouldn't have stayed last night, it made it even harder to leave now. Picking up a pen from the desk, he started to scribble out a note.

_'Stiles. I don't deserve you, I'm sorry about everything, as cheesy as it sounds it really isn't you. Sorry. Jacks.' _He bit his lip as he read the words that were blurring through the tears in his eyes. He scribbled them out and threw the note in the bin.

_'Sorry for being such a dick, you won't have to put up with me again. Jacks.' _Writing that five letter nickname made his heart leap as the memory of Stiles muttering the words flitted through his mind. He peered at the note and ran the pen across the words furiously, ripping the paper in two and throwing it into the bin.

He tried out thirty or more notes, sitting down on the chair and running his hands through his messy hair as he tried to put what he wanted to say down on paper.

_'I'm a slut and I don't deserve you.' _He tore up the paper and added it to the overflowing pile in the trash can. It wasn't eloquent enough to write that he was a slut, he thought Stiles deserved more.

_'I'm sorry, forget about me. Love Jacks.' _He scribbled out the last two words and looked over the note, deciding that wasn't good enough either, he didn't want to tell Stiles what to do. It added to the other ruined notes. Stiles began moving around behind him, groaning and reaching out across the sheets to find Jackson.

"Jacks?" Stiles muttered in his half waking, half asleep state. Jackson's heart beat a little faster as he heard his name. It was endearing, it was sweet, it was sexy; the name and Stiles himself were all of the above. Jackson knew he couldn't use it in his note. No words came, no monologue of how he was sorry for everything, no inspiration that he knew Stiles would get as soon as he had to write down anything flew into his mind. He wanted to write how he had loved the time with Stiles yesterday, how he was sorry that it couldn't work out because of his own selfish, slutty need to have Scott fucking him, how he should never have stayed last night but he was glad Stiles had helped him, how he hadn't judged him even though he deserved to be judged. None of it came. He scribbled one word down on the page and fled from the room.

_'Sorry.' _Fluttered from the desk on it's lonely patch of torn paper as Jackson's haste to get out before Stiles woke sent a wave of wind through the room, slowly cascading through the air to land in the trash with all the other notes, leaving the desk empty.


	7. Part VII

**Part VII**

Stiles woke twice in the night. He didn't know why, his sleep was more peaceful than he could imagine, but every time he woke and felt Jackson's back pressing into his chest his heart sped up and a grin spread across his face. He'd kiss his neck and slowly stroke the fingers that were entwined with his own there in the dead of night. He'd listen to Jackson's slow, steady breaths and sigh because he knew the guy was safe.

When he felt him twisting away, he reached out, attempting to catch him, opening one eye slightly to peer at the naked teen with blurry, morning eyes. He assumed he was going to the toilet and rolled back over, planning on waking up so he could actually experience the hug he was sure was coming next. But Stiles was a tired teen, body spent from sex and the emotional, draining ordeal with Scott. Unwillingly, he fell back to sleep.

Something was wet on his head. Soft and warm on his face, a kiss? He hoped it wasn't his dad having one of those secret emotional moments where he came in and gazed at Stiles when he thought he was asleep.

"Five more minutes." He grumbled, swatting at his dads wet kiss. He leaned over to reach for Jackson, but nothing was there. He knew he should get up and find him, the guy had been through hell last night and was probably feeling vulnerable, but the spider in his dream was getting closer. He had to escape first.

He could hear someone moving around when he next came close to the land of the living, but it was almost like an echo, like it wasn't really there. He thought he heard a tear of paper and an angry grunt, but perhaps that was coming from the giant spider chasing him around the glacier in his dream. The spider was getting closer and closer, he thrashed out to scare it away, but his hand turned to an embrace when it morphed into Jackson's handsome, smiling face, the lips pressing down onto his own while the glacier around him changed and twisted till it was a giant bed of spaghetti.

"Jacks." He groaned as the other teen did amazing things to him with his lips. An endless line of sauce coated pasta was being sucked into his mouth from the bed of the stuff all around him as he was kissed and licked and bit by that beautiful jock. When he tried to touch him, he found his lover had morphed into the leering frame of Scott, and the wonderful pasta he was bathing in was slipping open in a mess of squishy quicksand. He was falling, and he thrashed, hearing his own moans as they left his unconscious body, falling into a huge tree with Scott over him.

He needed to get up and find Jackson, make sure he was okay. Dream Scott was almost as terrifying as human (or not) Scott had been last night. With every inch of his willpower, he yanked himself from the dream, opening his eyes to see a tiny white blob falling onto the floor, and a figure vanishing around the door. He could hardly see, his eyes practically stuck together, horrible green sleep crusting in the corners. Stumbling to the bathroom was worthy of an Olympic medal, navigating past the chair that his dad sometimes sat in to read, yelping as his hipbone was smashed by the corner of a side table full of family photos, seeing stars when his face crunched against the closed door.

"Fee, fie, foe, fuck. Fuck, fuck." He grunted, emptying his bladder, his morning wood subsiding as he did. When he looked at himself in the mirror he almost passed usually smooth, white flesh of his neck was angry and red with little marks. Turning, he saw scratches and soft marks on his back, and felt an agonizingly nice, dull pain in his ass. It was all a reminder of what he and Jackson had done, and he loved it.

His ass hardly even hurt, he reflected as he stood under the slightly lukewarm shower, which was odd, his dad usually got the lukewarm one, he always got in after Stiles on a Saturday. It was just a little tingling around his sphincter, and thinking of how it got there got him horny as hell. Though he wanted to, he decided not to jerk off, saving his juices for what he and Jackson could do later. He saw the smashed tile in front of him and bristled with anger; not towards Jackson for punching the wall, but towards Scott for causing all these feelings in Jackson.

"Jackie baby?!" Stiles shouted jokingly down the stairs, waiting to see that handsome face smiling up at him. It suddenly hit him that he was walking around the house with a huge grin on his face and totally neglecting the other parts of the night. _The part where Scott had almost raped __Jackson_. Anger flared up in his stomach and manifested on his face as he stalked downstairs to find the other teen, hoping to comfort him.

The kitchen, were he knew he himself would usually be on a morning, or any time of day for that matter, was his first stop, but Jackson wasn't there. Living room, downstairs bathroom, TV room, they were all empty. The house was silent save for his fathers dull snores from upstairs, and the furious breathing Stiles was engaged in.

That was when he panicked. He ran back upstairs, sighing with relief when he saw Jackson's clothes were still on the floor. The sigh turned to a groan when he noticed the clothes may have been there, but his shoes were gone and Stiles' drawers were ajar, a few garments peeping out. Letting his eyes turn to the desk, he noticed it was empty.

"Thanks for the note goodbye." He mumbled absently, not caring too much. The paper that he stood on drew his brown pupils down to the ground, picking up a crumpled sheet with a mess of scribbles on. The trash can, he noticed as he took in more of the scene, was overflowing, every page marred with furious black streaks.

"I feel like a bag lady..." Stiles chuckled, sitting cross-legged in front of the trash, glad that he had cleared out the old banana skins and apple cores that had been in there before he left for school yesterday. He picked out a few pieces of paper, smoothing the crumpled pages and trying to read what they said.

Almost everything was unreadable, except a few 'sorrys', and 'donts'. He guessed one said 'slut', but he couldn't be sure. His heart did a back flip when he made out 'love' under the scribbles, trying to read the words before and after it to see if they said 'I' and 'you', a groan leaving his lips when he was unable to make it out.

"Jackson, Jackson, Jackson..." He grumbled, shaking his head and picking his body up from the floor. He looked through his phone to send him a text, laughing when he realised he didn't have his number. He had lost his virginity to the guy, and he didn't even have his digits.

"How am I meant to arrange round two?" He laughed, the sweet sound falling flat when he scrolled past Scott's number. He didn't know why, but it was almost like he was blacking out Scott's role in the night. When he thought of it he wanted it to be him and Jackson, not memories of Scott throwing and locking him out of the room then proceeding to _rape _the guy. Stiles firmly believed it was rape now that he thought on it, Jackson probably didn't know what he was doing, he wanted to believe that. Even if, he thought with an angry expression, it wasn't officially 'rape', it was still pretty damned wrong of Scott to come in and steal away his man. The guy had Allison, why did he need Jackson too?!

Sitting down and turning on his computer, he prepared to write an angry email to Scott.

"Morning kiddo. Whose are the clothes?" Sheriff Stilinski stood in the doorway in a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt, rubbing his eyes and taking in the scene in his sons room.

"Oh, uh..." Stiles stood up and kicked Jackson's clothes under the bed, pushing his dad out of the doorway and slamming the door behind him. He was stood with his back to the wood, his dads eyes in full policeman mode as they bared into his soul. "Just a friend who stayed over. He forgot his car and uh – had to stay here cos, you know, his house is far away."

"Right." His dad nodded with his eyebrows raised, not believing a word of it. "I think you two might wanna shut the door next time if this is supposed to be a secret."

Stiles jaw very nearly hit the floor. Of course, with his arms full of Jackson he hadn't had chance to close the door behind them. "Sorry – you were at work. I didn't think you'd mind." He spluttered, wishing the creaky floorboards would open and swallow him up.

"I don't." The sheriff slapped his son on the back, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and leading him downstairs.

"I kind of have things to do." Stiles protested, looking back to his closed door. He needed to send Scott a scolding email that told him just how _fucking mad _and _disgusted _he was in his best friend. Ex-best friend, he thought with a pang of anger.

"I'm sure he can wait till after breakfast to hear from you." The sheriff grinned, laughing as his sons cheeks burned like fire. "He could have stayed and enjoyed my famous cereal."

"He was – actually I don't know what he was." Stiles said, his dad sitting him down at the kitchen table and taking a seat opposite him.

"You don't know what? He didn't say goodbye?" Stiles' dad bristled, wondering if he could make a house call on his day off and find out if this kid was a good guy.

"He just kind of left." Stiles confessed, his cheeks still bright red. Why Jackson had gone he didn't know, clearly the guy was wrestling with something judging by all the notes in his bedroom, but Stiles could help. What Scott did was horrible and awful and Jackson needed Stiles around to help him through it. It wasn't like he was going to confide in Lydia or Danny about being almost _raped_. "I think I know why though, I mean, it's okay." Stiles gave his dad the best smile he could muster, breathing a sigh of relief when his father shrugged and started making his speciality: cereal.

After breakfast, and a very awkward conversation about safe sex, Stiles fled upstairs to write the email to Scott. As hard as he tried, he couldn't get the words down properly, it was hard to convey anger in an email when you were worrying about typos that would make you look like an idiot. He decided to write Jackson instead.

Fingers drummed on the keys without really pressing down as he thought what to say. Should he be loving and caring or try to be funny? He typed out Jackson's email from the lacrosse sheet they had been given that said if they had any questions they should ask the co-captains, they weren't to bother coach at home.

_'Jacks. Sorry about everything. _

_I don't mean to be insensitive but you kind of owe me, a) a new tile for the bathroom, your fists of fury did quite a bit of damage. b) several sheets of paper, you ruined an entire forest with all the scribbles you wrote. c) an explanation of why the hell you left this morning without letting me make you feel better – you know I know how. _

_We should talk. Or do other stuff... hint hint.' _

His lip was clamped between top and bottom teeth as he read over the words, hoping Jackson would see the humour and it would make the entire situation a little better. He had no idea how to deal with what Scott had done; he was winging it, and he had never been so nervous.

Screwing up his eyes and wincing, he pressed send and pushed the chair away from the desk, jumping up to hide under the covers. He was praying it was okay, that Jackson would reply and come over and they could have sex and eat pasta off each others stomachs and live happily ever after. Eyes were kept open by pressing his palm to his head and dragging the skin upwards, elbow resting on his knee and staring at the screen from the bed, waiting for the reply with bated breath.


	8. Part VIII

**Part VIII**

Jackson didn't go home straight away after he snuck from Stiles' house in the early, dawn light. The morning was crisp, the sky grey and bleak, just like his mood. His car wasn't there, but the walk home was welcome, it would let him think about what to do.

He was walking as fast as he could, the pain in his ass preventing him from jogging, headed for whatever vague direction he thought his house was in; the area was foreign to him, a sheriff hardly made the same pay grade as an attorney. He went down the wrong streets, got turned around twice, and ended up sat in a field, deserted save for the distant figure of an early morning dog walker in the distance. The hoody that he'd nabbed from the sofa before he left was wrapped around him a little tighter as he sat down at the base of a tree.

The fabric smelled like Stiles, he reflected as he put up the hood. It wasn't something he could explain, but he knew everyone had a scent. Not the smell of deodorant like how he usually smelt himself, or the body sprays and perfumes that Lydia was constantly drenched in, there was always something else under those chemicals. Without sweat from lacrosse or the deodorant that he wore masking his body, Stiles' scent had been free to permeate Jackson's nostrils all night. It was perfect, he thought as he lifted the edge of the hood to his nose and inhaled, chuckling when he realised it was kind of creepy.

The laugh fell flat when he remembered the smell of Scott. It had been sex, that was the only way he could describe it. Sex and lust and sweat all mixed together, merging with the anger in his eyes and the profanities he had been spewing to give Jackson the worst experience of his life. A tear welled up under the blue of his eye when he remembered how good it had felt.

He could hardly even think of the part of the night with Stiles, it took him a good ten minutes to block out Scott and focus on that wonderful segment of the bitter-sweet locker room experience, but it was enough to stop crying, remembering Stiles looking up at him, kissing him, touching him. The sadness inside was abated slightly when he remembered all those parts, Stiles holding him in the shower, clutching the other teens hand, falling asleep in his arms with his soft lips kissing his neck and hair.

What he would give to be back there with Stiles right now, but Jackson was a different person now. He wasn't the big man on campus any more, who had the perfect girlfriend, who everyone wanted to be friends with, and who was captain of the lacrosse team. He was the school slut who got banged in the locker room while begging for more.

The pain in his ass was burning, but when he thought of how he was fucked his ass started responding, his sphincter clenching at the memory, his cock twitching under the sweatpants. Jackson cried in earnest, letting the tears roll down his cheeks, taking his wet face into his hands to block out the world. He wanted to kill McCall for what he did, but wanted to worship him at the same time and do it all over again. He knew it was wrong, knew he shouldn't want it for a second time, but he did.

He couldn't stay with Stiles, not even for a morning, when he felt how he did. How Stilinski could even look at him was beyond Jackson all together, he'd been fucked by his best friend, had _asked _for it, yet Stiles seemed to think it was all Scott's fault and gave Jackson a free pass. He was harder on himself than he should be, he always had been. That's how it had to be.

With a deep sigh and a swipe of his palm across his wet face he took a deep breath and got up from the ground, pulling the hoody around him even more and zipping it up to the top. Jackson didn't want anyone to see him like this, wouldn't _let _anyone see him like this; except maybe Stiles. Curses flew from his bruised lips as the unbidden thought came into his head. Stiles had turned him upside down, there was no way he could see him again.

Walking through the winding, tree lined streets of his neighbourhood with the houses set far back against perfect green lawns, Jackson wondered if he could convince his parents to let him move schools. Maybe a boarding school? The guard at the edge of his gated community looked worried when he noticed Jackson's blotchy face, but he ignored him, thinking about how if he saw Stiles again he'd probably turn to mush. He didn't know what he'd do if he saw McCall again.

_Probably turn into a begging slut._

"Fuck!" Jackson grunted, slamming the huge, oak front door behind him. The house was unsurprisingly silent. His father was not a man who believed in taking the weekend off, and his mother always had some charity meeting to attend. He shut off the alarm and glanced around for a note; there was none there, there never was. His parents believed in giving him his freedom, they never even texted him to see if he was okay.

_It's all I deserve anyway. _

An array of fruit and pastry and assorted breakfast food had been laid out by the housekeeper and wrapped in plastic to keep it somewhat fresh. A nibble on a piece of sliced orange made him gag, while a bite of a bagel set his stomach churning. Hopefully, he thought, he'd die from starvation before he had to endure any more embarrassment.

Despite the water of the shower being blazing hot, Jackson was shivering, trying to wash away everything. He was already clean from the shower at Stiles', but he needed another one, needed to scrub away Scott. He took the nozzle off the shower head to clean his insides, letting out strangled whimpers as he remembered Scott's juices filling him up. A loofah that his mother always insisted on buying despite no one - not even herself - ever using them was like hard sandpaper as he scrubbed around his hole and across his skin. The marks left by Scott's fingers were like red hot pokers, he could feel those fingers pressing into him as he scrubbed at them. His dick jumped at the thought as a tear escaped.

Jackson hadn't cried for years, and now he'd shed more tears than he thought he even had in him. Everyone always said it was good to 'get it out', that it made you feel better, but it just made him feel weak and pathetic, like he was some dumb pussy who loved being fucked and cried at the slightest thing.

"You are a pussy, Whittemore." He said to his reflection, wiping away the condensation that had coated the massive reflective surface so he could look at himself. With a growl worthy of Scott's last night he slammed his fist into the face of his reflection, watching it multiply as the glass splintered and cracked. That made it even worse, his face was looking back, an angry, red face that screamed back at him how useless and stupid he was, told him he was a whore, told him he was nothing. Vaguely he remembered how his mother had the ornate, gilded mirror shipped over from Venice. She'd probably ground him for a month when she saw what he was doing to it, but he didn't care. At least he wouldn't be able to go see Stiles, wouldn't have to be put in temptations way. Blood was pouring from his fingers by the time he had given the mirror a fourth punch, hardly even registering the glass embedding in his feet as he padded across the mess of blood and shards to his bedroom.

Stiles clothes had been thrown on the bed when he came in to drop off his phone and strip down, and he couldn't resist putting them back on. While the shower had gotten rid of Scott, it had wiped away Stiles too, and he didn't want that. Just because he wasn't good enough for the guy didn't mean he couldn't _think_ about him, so think about him he did, smelling the scent as he slipped back into the clothes and laid down under the covers.

Four blankets had to be wrapped around him to get him warm, despite his burning skin he was freezing cold, his feet wrapped in three pairs of socks. He decided to read up on suicide just to pass some time. Jackson had always been of the opinion that it was selfish to kill yourself, but he was closer to understanding someone who took their own lives motives as he read through the wikipedia page absently.

"You have mail." The cheery voice of the email lady made him want to smash up the computer, but he clicked onto the message anyway, wondering who 'pancakeguy95' was.

"Oh..." He muttered, reading the email which was clearly from Stiles.

_ 'Jacks. Sorry about everything.  
__I don't mean to be insensitive but you kind of owe me, a) a new tile for the bathroom, your fists of fury did quite a bit of damage. b) several sheets of paper, you ruined an entire forest with all the scribbles you wrote. c) an explanation of why the hell you left this morning without letting me make you feel better – you know I know how.  
__We should talk. Or do other stuff... hint hint.'_

There it was again, Jacks. That one word made him want to throw the damn piece of technology out of the window and run straight back to Stiles' house, jump in bed with him and kiss every inch of him, lay in each others arms and watch movies and just listen to surely irritating but charming comments Stiles would come out with.

Even in his state of depression he couldn't help but smile at the main body of the email, the guy could make him smile even when he wanted to die. How was it possible that _Stiles _could make him smile? If he had read this email twenty four hours ago he would have snorted and commented on what an idiot Stiles was. Now it set his heart racing, hearing from Stiles was like getting a message from god. A large part of Jackson had thought that when Stiles awoke, under the cold light of day, he would have looked at Jackson and asked him why he was there. Why had he stayed the night, was he expecting breakfast? Maybe he would have asked for a quick fuck, knowing what a slut Jackson was.

Stilinski had a heart of gold. He felt so stupid thinking that Stiles was too good for him, but it was _true_, he was sure of it. Stiles would let Jackson call him a slut in the showers as he gave him a blowjob - a comment that he was regretting more and more - then would forgive him for asking Scott to fuck him, take him home and comfort him all night. _Then _the guy would email him the next day with his perfect blend of concern and charm and humour.

_'Sorry about the tiles.' _Jackson began typing a reply, unsure on what to say. He could just imagine Stiles on the edge of his seat waiting for the ping of new mail, he wanted to do it right, but he didn't know what to say. He decided to just address the questions.

_'Sorry about the tiles. I'll enclose my bank details, get some more paper while you're at it. Sorry for leaving, had to get home. Thanks for taking care of me but I'm okay. See you at school or whatever.' _

He knew how cold and impersonal it was, but there was nothing else to say. Typing out a comment about how Stiles better not steal all his money was too friendly, it would provoke a reply. The 'whatever' made his heart lurch the most; he deleted it and rewrote it over and over, but it made it ambiguous, made it seem like he didn't care. He couldn't put Stiles through having to deal with all his own crap; issues with his parents and his materialism and vanity and how all he was good at was sports and now his slut problems. The guy deserved to just go have fun.

Jackson pressed send with a tear in his eye.


End file.
